"You've certainly got a good eye for costumes, Miss Dane," Goldsmith
said, "and here's a proposition we'd like to make. A lot of these other
things we've got for the regular chorus don't look so good as they
might. You'll be able to see changes in them that'll improve them maybe
fifty per cent. Well, you take it on, and we'll begin paying you your
regular salary now; you understand, twenty-five dollars a week,
beginning to-day."
Rose accepted this proposition with a warm flush of gratitude. It
indicated, she felt, that they were still friendly toward her, disposed
of certain misgivings she'd experienced the night before, lest in
driving, unwittingly, so good a bargain with them, she had incurred
their enmity.
But, from the moment her little salary began, she found herself
retained, body and soul, exactly as Galbraith himself was. They'd bought
all her ideas, all her energy, all her time, except a few scant hours
for sleep and a few snatched minutes for meals. She gave her employers,
up to the time when the piece opened at the Globe, at a conservative
calculation, about five times their money's worth.
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